A dozen books lay upon the counterpane. Wood, regarding her husband with a glance of vindictive triumph. “Well,” she said, “good-night, father. He did not play golf, but took his exercise on horseback, which was also unsympathetic. There was a mad musician, seemingly rapt in admiration of the notes he was extracting from a child's violin. One mistress enough to ruin a man,—two, the devil.
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